


To The Cave Where I'd Hide You (In Linens and Frames)

by objectlesson



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Butch/Femme, Dirty Talk, F/F, Face-Sitting, Fingerfucking, First Time, Insecurity, Lightning is 35 Doc is 70, Oral Sex, Romance, mild d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 03:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: Doc’s eyes get dark, just for a moment. “You’re a kid,” she says then, standing to pace, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand thoughtfully, like she’s trying to blot a memory out. “I shouldn’t be thinking about it at all.”Something wild and reckless swells in Lightning’s chest, the feeling of speeding towards a finish line, one lap to go, victory just moments away. “But you are.”





	To The Cave Where I'd Hide You (In Linens and Frames)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a PWP with a lot of thoughts and feelings!!! Title from the wild The Blow song Come on Petunia .

Lightning is drunk on cheap chardonnay and jet-lag, too tired and spread-thin to stop herself from _scheming. _She does this when her defenses are down: gets stuck somewhere between grandiose delusions and self-loathing, thinking _I’m gonna do whatever it takes to get what I want because I’m Lightning McQueen and I made my own name from nothing and I don’t say no to anyone_ at the same she’s thinking: _Doc will never, ever love me because why in the hell _would _she and m’gonna die alone. _It’s a messy, rhinestoned gutter she’s created, and she always makes the worst decisions when she lies down in it. 

Currently, she’s nursing the last of the wine straight from the bottle, having given up all together with the fragile plastic flutes they bought at the dollar store, obsessing over all the things she’ll never have. “You should teach me how you _kiss,” _she blurts, wincing as she swallows. It’s warm now, and tastes even more like horse piss than it did when it was chilled. 

“What in the hell,” Doc grumbles at her, raising an eyebrow and making that perplexed face she reserves for moments when their age gap feels truly substantial too her. _You’re like a different species sometimes, kid,_ she’s said before, and it shouldn’t hurt Lightning’s feelings because it’s the _truth_, but lots of things hurt her where Doc is concerned. “You’re thirty five. I reckon you already know how to do that. Or what, are you just having sleepovers with all those girls you bring back to your room after parties? Pillow fights but not kisses?” 

Lightning frowns. She would toss a pillow at Doc across the hotel room, but she’s feeling _exposed_ now that the topic of pillow fights has been broached. “Of course I kiss them,” she snaps. “I just feel like you’re better at kissing than me. You make women _swoon_ when you kiss them. Remember that time in Orlando when that lady passed out at the cantina?” 

“I think that was because she thought I was a man,” Doc offers, shrugging. “Had nothing to do with technique.” 

“Oh sure. So all the times times I've ever seen you kiss a lady and she looks like she’s seen _the face of god _or whatever? All coincidences?” Her stomach is feeling tied up and too tight now that they’re talking about Doc kissing women, which she does surprisingly often and with tremendous amounts of success when they celebrate out with Guido and Luigi after big wins. She does good for herself as an older woman, the sort of effortlessly androgynous butch that draws not just other lesbians in, but curious girls, hooked and reeled even if they’ve never tried something with another woman before. It’s some sort of weird gay magic that works on nearly everyone despite their prior preference. It worked on _Lightning_, anyway, which is annoying because _before_ Doc she’d done a fantastic job always coming out on top and never getting her heart broken or anything embarrassing like that. Now she’s fucked. 

“Maybe it’s just the decades of practice,” she says. “Not something I can teach, not like driving where there are tricks to it. You just gotta feel it out. No science to kissing.” 

“Hey! There’s no science to racing, either, not really. Sounds just like driving to me,” Lightning offers, finishing off the wine and hopping off the bed, swaying in her adidas shorts and cropped white tank-top. “Maybe—maybe I just want to _feel_ what those women feel. I’m curious. Wanna take you for a spin,” she says then, waggling her eyebrows because being gross is the only way she can actually flirt with Doc. She has to wrap her actual feelings and desires up in layers of humor and crassness so Doc doesn’t know she actually means this stuff. She can make that fucking face and decide it’s all a joke, the product of their age gap, their separate species, just another thing about Lightning she doesn’t understand. 

Her expression is hard edged and unreadable as she looks over the horn rim of her glasses and says very cooly, “You’re drunk.” 

Lightning pouts. “C’mon, is the idea of making out with me _once_ just to try it _so_ disgusting you can’t even humor me?!” she asks, pushing and whining and toeing the border of dangerous territory because she’s _deep_ in it, struggling to keep afloat amid the toxic sea of her own self-destructive and self-aggrandizing impulses. This has happens way too often since she fell in love and ruined everything. “Have you _really_ never even thought about it? We’re both gay.” 

Doc’s eyes get dark, just for a moment. “You’re a kid,” she says then, standing to pace, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand thoughtfully, like she’s trying to blot a memory out. “I shouldn’t be thinking about it at all.” 

Something wild and reckless swells in Lightning’s chest, the feeling of speeding towards a finish line, one lap to go, victory just moments away. “But you are.” 

“You’re making me think about it,” Doc snaps, taking off her glasses and folding them up, sliding them into the pocket of her leather jacket which is hanging off a peg by the door. “M’gonna take a walk.” 

“No! No you’re not. You’re gonna kiss me. You have to kiss me once before you storm off to be no fun, it’s the rule, I decided,” Lightning announces, sprinting across the hotel room and wedging herself decidedly between Doc and the door, planting her back firmly against her hanging jacket to trap it there. 

Doc looks down at her, the blue of her eyes so hard and reflective it stings to look at. She grinds her teeth, takes a step forward so close their chests almost brush, but Lightning does not move. Her heart is going crazy in her ribcage, so loud Doc can probably _hear_ it, but still, she holds her ground. She’s gonna get what she wants or she’s gonna crash and burn trying, and either of those work just _fine _for her.

“Fine,” Doc says then, shaking her head. “But you’re gonna have to pay me back. My kisses aren’t free, especially not to spoiled little princesses who block doors and demand shit they don’t actually want just to make a point.” 

Lightning, of course, _does_ want this, even if it’s not the romantic life changing heart rending movie-kiss with Doc she’d prefer. She’ll take what she can get. “Ok, what do you want?” she says easily, popping her hip out. “I have cash in my wallet.” 

Doc rolls her eyes. “I don’t want _money, _kid. Who do you think I am?” 

“You’re the one asking for payment!” she reminds her. 

Doc stares and stares, and finally she sighs, gaze sweeping up to the ceiling in defeat. “When we get back to Radiator Springs I want you to do my dishes,” she decides , crossing her arms. “For a week. Since it’s your fault the dish washer is broken.” 

Lightning _wants_ to say that it wasn’t her fault the dish soap was in a bottle that looked like dish-_washer_ soap and that a week is a _very long time, _but she’s also not gonna risk overplaying her hand and she _really_ wants that kiss, so she sighs deeply and says “Deal.” 

“Jesus,” Doc grumbles. “I thought you’d back down from that one.” 

“Nope,” Lightning purrs, licking her lips and grinning. “Ok. Now you have to do it.” 

Doc looks to the side for a moment, staring hard and unwavering at the wall with her mouth set, like she’s thinking about a hundred things right now. Lightning wishes she could read her mind, sort of, but she’s also pretty sure it would hurt her feelings, so instead she just waits there, presses against the door, sucking in Doc’s warm, wine-sweet exhalations. “Can I touch you? Doc asks when she turns back to her, extending a hand to graze ever so gently against Lightning’s bare hip, the strip of skin between her shirt and low-riding shorts. “I get if that’s too much, I just—I dunno how to kiss a woman without—”

“Um, of course! C’mon, I want the full experience, don’t skimp out on me,” Lightning pretends to joke, pushing herself into Doc’s palm like this whole thing isn’t ripping her apart from the inside out, shredding her like a rototiller. Her stomach is dropping so hard, her cunt is pulsing, _just_ from this. The promise of a kiss, and Doc’s fingers brushing skin. “You’re not allowed to just peck me, either, ok, this is full throttle. Try and make me faint.” 

Doc shakes her head, eyelids fluttering closed like she’s in pain. “You don’t even have any idea what you’re doing to me kid, do you?” She murmurs like _it hurts, _and before Lightning can answer she’s gripping her waist sweet and solid, other hand coming up to cup her cheek. Then she dips her back into the folds of her own leather jacket, and kisses her. 

Her breath tastes like salt and leather and wine and her lips are _so _fucking soft and sure that Lightning _definitely_ swoons. Her knees weaken and she sags against the wall, hands fluttering up between them to fist greedily in Doc’s shirt, wishing she could slip her fingers between the buttons, that she could feel for her heart beat. 

Doc kisses her once, twice, three times deep and steady before she opens her mouth, and Lightning groans into it, back arching, toes curling in hotel carpet. There’s a maddening moment when Doc flicks her tongue in slick and easy, and _right_ when it’s starting to get good enough Lightning thinks maybe this is _going_ somewhere besides a week of dishes and a dead end, Doc pulls away gasping. “Jesus christ,” she says, letting Lightning go to wipe her mouth off and backing away, stumbling like she’s dizzy. “how the _hell_ did you talk me into that?” 

“What!? Was it not good? Was _I_ not good?” Lightning mumbles, nearly sinking to her heels on the ground now that Doc’s not holding her up, the whole of her body trembling with desire, with a weird, defeated sort of ache. “Just—tell me what to do, bet I can make it better, bet I—” 

“No, it’s not—_Fuck, _Lightning, this shit isn’t a _game_ for me,” she snaps then, eyes flashing like the hottest, bluest flame. “ kissing women—kissing _you. _I can’t just go back to sitting around drinking and talking racing with you or having you do my goddamned _dishes _knowing what your lips feel like,” she growls, every word punching out of her like she’s yelling even if she’s not. Lightning stares, not able to compute, not able to put together what she’s _saying_ because it doesn’t line up with her delusions of grandeur, her fundamental belief she’s worthless. The two warring absolutes in her chest struggle against each other like repelling magnets, and she comes up blank. “You can play with your fans and your brand endorsement models all you want but don’t—don’t play with me,” Doc finally grinds out before adding on another emphatic : “I can’t believe you talked me into that.” 

The air between them thrums, and Doc’s _hands_ are shaking; Lightning notices, heart in her throat. 

“Can I show you something?” She manages then, parting her thighs, hand sweat-damp with nerves as she lays it on her own stomach, poised in space until she gets an answer. Every inch of her is thrumming, is _vibrating _with a cocktail of adrenaline and fear and arousal. She has to—she _has_ to let Doc know that this isn’t a game, she’s _not_ playing. At least not with her. Not with her heart. Only with her own fucking mess of a self concept. It’s never even _occurred_ to her Doc might want the same thing she does—in her head, Doc’s too good and too together and too hot and too _smart _to want a girl like Lighting. But _god, _if she’s stupid enough to come lie in the rhinestone gutter by her side, Lightning will sure as hell make room. “You can tell me to fuck off and you can be mad, but just. Let me show you. C’mere.” 

Doc rubs her face with her hands, wavers, and then steps back into her space. “You’re an insufferable brat and I should say _no_ and go on my goddamned walk like I wanted to in the first place, but I’m an idiot, I guess, so. Whatever. Show me.” 

Lightning pushes her hand into her shorts, eyes locked on Doc’s, stomach knotting and dropping as her index and middle fingers curl up into herself, where she’s so wet she can _hear_ the filthy _snick_ sound of slickness. She watches something flicker in Doc’s jaw, watches the nervous slip of her tongue over her lower lip, watches her _pupils_ dilate. Then, clumsy as her wrist snags on the elastic, she pulls her glistening fingers out. She parts them, and a shining filament keeps them connected. Doc stares. “It’s not a joke,” Lightning breathes, swallowing anxiously with a dry, locked up throat. “It’s not. I _want_ you to kiss me more than anything it’s just that—I dunno. M’just stupid.” 

Doc curses under her breath, and then she’s grabbing Lightning’s wrist, and pulling it close to suck the shine right off her knuckles. 

Lightning yelps, insides roiling, cheeks so suddenly and impossibly hot she feels like she’s catching fire, dry chaff under a burning sun. Doc’s mouth is searing and flooded and her tongue slides dirty-wet between her fingers in such a way Lightning feels like she’s gonna fucking fall apart, dissolve into a tide of longing because no one _ever _in the whole slutty span of her lifehas touched her like this. Doc’s grip on her wrist is so bruising she can feel the blood pounding under the pressure, and she _loves_ that, loves the solidity, the certainty, the rage. That even her own determination to fuck things up can’t misinterpret this—Doc _wants_ her. She can feel it. 

When Doc pulls off of her fingers sloppily she’s panting, her eyes are blown tarry black and wide. “This is what you want?” she asks, voice a hoarse rumble, like a distant but oncoming storm. “Are you fucking sure? I _need_ to know if you're serious, kid. I need to know. But if you _do_ want me, you’ve had me. You’ve had me since I saw you cuffed in my courtroom.”

“I want you,” she bites out before her voice devolves into a wordless sob, knees giving out as she falls into Doc, and maybe she kisses her or maybe she’s been kissed, she’s not sure, but their mouths are pressed flush suddenly and Lighting can _feel_ Doc’s teeth in her lower lip, can taste _herself_ as she sucks her tongue in messy pulses. “Touch me,” Lightning murmurs as she rips away just long enough to force the words out into the hot space between them. “M’sure. So sure.” 

It must be enough to convince Doc, because she laughs a broken, disbelieving laugh against Lightning’s swollen lips, and her eyes get even darker, her grip firmer. _Fuck, yes, please, _Lightning thinks, heart speeding, head rushing, mouth flooding. 

Time, however, slows down. There against the door Doc gets one hand in Lightning’s hair, the other shoving sweet and careful down the front of her shorts. Instantly her vision is reduced to static, the hectic mess of rhinestones up so close they’re nothing but light, but glitter, and Lightning thinks it’s a pretty good view from the gutter. “How do you like it, baby?” Doc growls against her pulse, cupping her mound with the heat of her palm, steady and teasing all at once. “You tell me what you like.” 

“Um,” Lightning murmurs, twisting, trying to buck into Doc’s hand. It’s hard to articulate what she wants when she’s like this, overwhelmed half way to ruin already, after_ months_ of convincing herself there was no point in fantasizing about this because it never could happen. “I don’t know. M’not usually with—I’ve never been with someone like you. I like.. don't want to tell you what I want? I want _you_ to do what you want _to me_, _take_ what _you _want _from_ me,” she babbles, back arching, cunt pulsing as Doc carefully, gently smooths the short hairs away from her slit to slide the tip of her finger inside her easily. 

“Yeah? Want to be my good little girl? Do whatever I say?” she murmurs, and _fuck, _Lighting feels herself clench, tightening hungrily, sucking at Doc’s finger. “God,” Doc breathes, because she must feel it too. She pushes a little deeper before she slides out, drawing up through her folds, over the hard nub of her clit.”You’re so wet.” 

“I get wet just sitting next you sometimes,” Lightning admits, lashes fluttering as Doc plays with her, rubs her too-slow and too-gentle to get her off. It’s just enough to make her shake, to make her want _more. “_Or when you show me how to drive.” 

“So you’re always ready for me to do whatever I want to you, huh? Always ready for me to touch you?” Her voice is so low and hot and raspy it makes Lightning’s breath catch, her stomach snag over the rough tangle of words. 

“Yes,” she whimpers, “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

“Such a good girl,” Doc sighs, getting a fistful of Lightning’s hair and inhaling from it greedily. “You act out just so I might get fed up and do this, don’t you? You just want to be put in your place.” 

“_Yes,”_Lightning sobs, the relief in her chest at having it said so clearly, so _lovingly_ clenching around her windpipe tight. She’s has never felt so desired at the same time she’s desiring, and the sensation makes her choke up, tears stinging in the corner of her eyes because she’s never thought she was worth being coveted, that she’d get to _have it. _Her whole life has been improbable crushes from afar, and meaningless sex with the sort of girl she doesn’t care about enough to fail at impressing. She’s never wanted the same person who wants her. It’s dizzying. 

“Want you in bed,” Doc murmurs. “I want you to spread your pretty legs for me and sit on my face. Ride my mouth while I feel you all over. How does that sound, babygirl?” 

It sound like her dirtiest fantasies, the ones closest to her heart. It sounds _so_ much like heaven Lightning can hardly speak, only nod frantically while she swallows, swaying as Doc peels away from her, lets her up from the door at long last. She pulls her hand out from her waistband and the loss of contact very nearly makes Lightning panic so she makes quick work of the room, stumbling back to the bed, crawling up onto all fours on the mattress while she watches Doc lay down, hold out her arms expectantly. “C’mon. Lemme take your clothes off. _God, _lemme see you.” 

Lightning steals kisses as Doc undresses her, rolling her shorts down over her hips, smoothing tender, hungry hands over her ass, her thighs, up her back. “These shirts you wear drive me crazy, always have,” she murmurs into her lips. “I can see your nipples through them, and I’d feel so _bad, _noticing, mouth watering over them. You’re so gorgeous. Such a tease.” 

“I wasn’t teasing. I wanted you to look at me. I’d pray you would,” Lightning confesses, shuddering at the way Doc is looking as her, eyes locked awed and so blue on the blonde stubble between her thighs. She’s not shaved smooth but she also doesn’t have a proper bush; it’s somewhere awkward and in between and _normally_ she wouldn't even let girl see her naked like this, but she feels so fucking _sexy_ right now, smoldering under Doc’s gaze, squirming as she licks her lips. “You’ve thought about eating me out?” she whispers, walking clumsily up the bed on her knees, which are bracketing Doc’s hips, her waist, eventually her ribcage. She wavers there for a moment, close enough she can feel the heat of her exhalations, far enough away Doc can’t reach her yet without shifting, craning her neck. 

Doc shakes her head, reaching out with tremulous hands and thumbing up the front planes of Lightning’s thighs slow and desperate, until she’s rubbing her hip bones, the trail of soft blonde hair under her belly-button, _lower. “_Tried not to. Didn’t seem right but—fuck, you’re so irresistible, I’d think about it all the time. Knew you'd taste so good. That you’d make the prettiest noises.” 

“Make me make noise,” Lightning begs again, legs quaking as Doc slides her strong, broad palms to her ass to squeeze, to drag her those final few inches. “make me faint.” 

She parts her lips to just look at her for a second before there’s a soft, awed noise in the back of her throat. Like she thinks Lightning’s _pretty_ down there instead of just a desperate mess, like she can’t wait to swipe her tongue up her slit. Lightning braces her hands against the wall to keep herself steady, but before Doc licks, she eases her into it with closed mouth kisses where she’s spread, right on her clit, soft and lingering and so fucking _warm_. Lightning whimpers, stomach muscles clenching, unclenching, the whole of her overwhelmed. Doc pulls back, lips glistening. “Love the way you smell,” she murmurs, licking the shine from her own mouth, so many lines through her brow, like the taste has moved her so much she’s wounded. “God. Come here, give me your weight. Sit.” 

“I won’t crush you?” Lightning asks, even as her legs tremble and give way. She sinks down and Doc opens her mouth, and then there’s the flood, the slick push of her tongue _up inside, _relentless and hungry. Lightning dissolves, bucking mindlessly there for a moment before she has to roll back up onto her knees. God, she’s never been eaten out so confidently, so _expertly. _She lowers herself, lets Doc fuck up into her slit until the throb of her clit it too much to take, and then right when she’s about to shift back to seek contact there, Doc reads her mind and licks up to it, sucking the swollen mouthful greedily. Lightning’s mouth is hanging so slack she drools, spit on her chin as she pitches forward to press her head to the wall, riding Doc’s tongue until heat builds low and tell-tale in her gut. She jerks away suddenly, so sensitive she’s twitching. “_Fuck.’ _

_“_Come back,” Doc orders, palming her ass, squeezing fistfuls of it. “M’not some fragile old woman, kid, you can-”

“No, m’gonna, I’m like, _close_ already,” Lightning whines, arching her back, pushing into Doc’s palms. “You’re gonna make me come.” 

Doc kisses the inside of her thigh, looks up, breath hissing out of her at the soft, generous heft of Lightning’s tits in time with her labored breath. “God, you’re so perfect everywhere,” she mumbles, almost so herself as she smoothes her palms up Lightning’s sides before squeezing her tits together, thumbing over the nipples. “Sit back down. You can come. M’gonna bring you off over and over again. Gonna wreck my babygirl,” she promises. “You just let me take care of you. Let it go.” 

Lightning is not sure why, but _that’s_ the thing that finally makes her honest to god cry, the tears welling so quick and sudden they overtake her, spilling in rivulets down her cheeks as she sniffles. “Ok,” she mumbles against the wall, situating herself again, cunt so wet and sloppy she feels like she’s dripping down her own thighs, like she’s drowning Doc as she surges into her. “God,_ fuck,” _she chokes out, eyes streaming a Doc laps up inside her again, groaning into the mess of her. “You’re so fucking _good_ at that.” 

Doc keeps her on the edge so long she’s nothing but tears and static and tremor in her palms, under her tongue. It’s not until she eases two fingers upside her and fucks them just _right_ that Lightning starts to spasm, Doc’s tongue flicking over her clit with maddening precision and even as she bucks and writhes and yelps. 

She collapses against the wall like her strings were cut, breath heaving, snot on her upper lip. She’s not sure she’s ever been so vulnerable in front of another human before, let alone someone she just had sex with. It’s weird and it’s _nice, _to not care how desperate or ruined she looks as Doc drags herself out from underneath her and arranges her on her back, pushes her hair off her sticky face and kisses her. “You always cry when you come or am I special?” she asks, thumbing wet trails from the corners of her eyes, licking them off her cheeks. “God you’re so pretty.” 

“You’re definitely special,” Lightning admits, curling closer, body still over-sensitive and alive, cunt still twitching, still hungry. “Jesus, no wonder all the girls swoon. You—I’ve never felt like that. Like this.” 

“You’re special, too. M’not usually so—I don’t usually show my hand so much,” Doc shrugs before kissing her deep, tasting like Lightning, musk and salt and tang. “Can’t stop telling you how beautiful you are, though. Can’t get over it. Just. God, want to eat you out again, you ready? I’ll be sweet this time.” 

Lightning makes a sound, thighs falling open as Doc kisses her way down her sternum, her stomach, closer and closer to where she wants her back. “You were sweet the first time. You’re _so_ sweet. You’re so—I’ve never _been_ eaten out, really, I've just been like…licked, sort of, in that stupid porn way where they don’t get their face in there like, at all. I didn’t know it could _be_ like this.” 

“Fuck. I’ll show you how it should be, angel. I’ll make you feel so good. Can’t believe no one’s ever taken you apart, you’re _perfect, _built to tongue-fucked, so sweet,” she groans, razing her teeth on over Lightning’s belly, the soft curve that only shows when she’s not sucking in. She didn't even realize she hadn’t been doing that, hadn’t been _posing, _altering her self so she looked her best. Doc licks over her belly button and then lower, gaze hot and focused and studying, taking note, memorizing her like she’s a map, and it hits Lightning that she _does_ look her best right now, because Doc’s is looking at her. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” she marvels, reaching down with a sweaty hand to card it experimentally through Doc’s short hair, the back and sides so short they’re neatly buzzed. Doc has always seemed so _untouchable_ to her, too fucking good, so far above her she never imagined she could have this. She palms down over her toned shoulders, loving the soft shift of worn flannel over her loose skin. There’s musculature under everything, still so strong, even if it’s been softened with age. 

Doc laughs breathlessly against her thigh, gently thumbing over her cunt, easing her back into being touched. “You have bad taste.” 

“Excuse me, I have great taste, I’m a _tastemaker, _they ranked me number four in _Sports Illustrated’s _best dressed pro-athletes this year, remember?” she jokes, voice getting reedy at the end because Doc is pushing two fingers up inside her again, crooking them gently. “Jesus fucking christ.” 

“M’lucky such a fashionable, popular, trendy little thing like you wants an old dyke like me,” she murmurs, spreading Lightning’s thighs again with her free hand, looking at the lewd pink split of her hungrily. “Must have done something good in a past life. Saved someone. Gotten a Purple Heart,” she muses, teasing now, pressing soft, lingering kisses _around_ Lightning’s clit without actually touching it. “You ready for my mouth again, baby?” she asks then, lips ghosting so close Lightning keens, bucks. “Hm. I’ll take that as a yes.” 

“Yes, _yes_, fucking—_god, _Doc,” Lightning begs, back arching up off the mattress as Doc bends her head to lick her out. She_ is_ gentler this time, lips soft, tongue flat and wet and aimless instead of the focused flicking that made Lightning come so fast and hard the first time. She really, _really_ fucking knows what she’s doing and it’s _insane, _how much that confidence loosens Lightning up, encourages her to relax and let go in a way she’s never been able to before when fucking. She decides she _likes_ losing control, she _likes_ not having to decide if she’s worth coming hard or being worshipped, because Doc has decided for her. 

“You taste so good, could do this all night, baby,” Doc murmurs against her, eyes shut beneath fluttering lids, head bent like she’s praying. She fixes her mouth around her clit agin, fingers pumping deep as she nurses wide and wet and without much suction.

“Fuck. M’gonna come for you again,” Lightning grinds out through clenched teeth, thighs pushing together to Squeeze Doc’s shoulders between them, hands scrubbing through her hair. She fights the urge to say _right there, just like that_ because for the first time ever, she doesn’t _have_ to. She doesn't have to direct her own pleasure, holding some girl in place and desperately humping her tongue hoping she’ll stay put long enough to actually finish her off. She can just fall apart, fingers digging into the soft, crinkled skin at the back of Doc’s neck as she topples effortlessly over the edge. 

When she opens her eyes the world too-bright, hazy with static, and her throat is hoarse which leads her to believe she’s been screaming. “Did I make a lot of noise?” she croaks, gazing at Doc blearily. She’s still between her thighs, palming up and down them reassuringly, kissing her stomach, her mound. 

Doc laughs, a low rumble against delicate skin. “You could say that.” 

“Fuck,” Lightning murmurs, head falling back against the already crushed pillows She feels boneless and wrung out, cheeks flushed hot and the rest of her shivery. She’s not sure she can move, but _still, _she wants to get Doc off. She wants to see her, to _touch her, _if she’s allowed to do that. 

Even though she’s gay she feels like she doesn’t really know gay rules half the time, since she’s navigated the world by faking her way through it, convincing people she deserves to be exactly where she is at the same time she knows she_ doesn’t. _She's only slept with the sort of girls who don’t know better, who can’t see through her ignorance, her isolation, her bravado, so_ s_he’s not sure she knows what to _do_ with Doc, what’s expected of her. But she want to try. 

“Can I—Do you like to be touched?” she asks, grazing her nails through Doc’s hair again, loving the bristly softness of it under her fingers. “I don’t want to _assume, _but—”

“Do you want to touch me? M’just as happy getting myself off while I kiss you. I don’t need anything from you except to make you come,” Doc explains, hauling herself up and shifting to lie beside Lightning. As soon as she’s in position for it she cups her tits, rubbing her nipples with her thumbs so they tighten up. “I’d love to suck you here, I’d come so fast.” 

“God,” Lightning mumbles, arching her back, pressing herself more deeply into Doc’s palms because she’s pretty sure every part of her body was built to fit there exactly. “I’d love to _make_ you come, if you—if you’d actually want it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.” 

“Give me your hand,” Doc says gently, encircling Lightning’s offered wrist, slick-dimpled fingers digging into her pulse. She’s wearing a pair of black sweat pants for men, and she guides Lightning’s fingers down past the waistband, under the hem of her flannel where the slit in the cotton is. Lightning’s heart leaps when she realizes what’s happening, that Doc is pulling her hand through that secret opening and towards her cunt. 

She goes willingly, anxiously, not _used_ to be led because she’s always thought she had to be the one to take the lead. She _knows_ how to touch a girl, how to make her come, but there’s something so fucking thrilling to the surrender of allowing Doc to _show_ her exactly how _she_ wants it. She gasps as her fingers brush through a thatch of public hair, nudging up against hot, soft skin, then sliding _between, _up into heat, to an ocean. “Oh my god,” she breathes, curling her finger tips against the prominent bump of her clit, rubbing it gently, experimentally, letting Doc control the speed and pressure. 

“Feel what you do to me, baby girl?” Doc murmurs against her temple before she kisses her deep, the spice and musk of Lightning’s cunt still overwhelming on her tongue. Her wrist is already aching from being gripped, from being held just _so, _but this is the best thing she’s ever felt, the best thing she’s ever _done. _She wonders in a rush what Doc _tastes_ like, if she moans when she comes or if she curses, if she’ll silences herself with Lightning’s lips. 

“So hard. And fucking wet. I made you wet,” she marvels, squeezing her thighs together, so nervy it almost hurts. 

“Yeah. You did so good, such a good little girl, letting me do whatever I want to you, letting me show you how to fuck me,” she breathes against the shell of her ear, legs tensing, gasping unevenly as she lets go of Lightning’s wrist. She feels the blood rush back. “You got it, sweetheart, you keep rubbing it just like that. Let me feel you.” 

Lightning keeps the pace steady, absolutely _obsessed_ with the way Doc feels, the burn, the slickness, the way she’s thrusting into her hand rhythmically, limiting her movement. It’s not as much like fingering a girl as it is to having her hand ridden and that’s _hot, _feeling used, good enough to just exist as she is, perfect enough to come just _grinding_ on.

Doc is touching her all over, squeezing her tits, rolling her nipples, sucking haphazard marks onto her neck. “Do I feel good?” Lightning whimpers, trying hard to keep her touch steady, to not race ahead like she always wants to. 

“So fucking good. Gonna come in your hand, baby, you just—_fuck, _Lightning,” she gasps out, hips pistoning, cunt rubbing hot and filthy into Lightning’s palm as she buries her face into her hair. 

Lightning feels a little bruised, a little raw, but the last fucking thing she wants to do is pull her hand out of Doc’s pants, so she just keeps it there, cups her, feels each aftershock and pulse and twitch against her skin, heart stopping every time.

“Thank you,” she says eventually, and she might be crying again, or maybe Doc is, or maybe that’s sweat or drool or something else on their faces, Lightning doesn’t know. Everything is wet and it’s like some absolving rain, washing the last clinging remnants of the gutter dirt off her skin. She feels _perfect, _right now. Content in a way she’s not sure she ever thought she was allowed to feel. “For everything,” she sniffles. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” Doc murmurs, skating soft, swollen lips from her jaw to her ear to her hairline to the ditch beneath her eye, where there may or may not be pooled tears, crystalized salt. “I love you. Want to give you everything. Told you, since I saw you in that courtroom, I was yours.” 

“I secretly wanted to be your good little girl who did whatever you wanted since then, too. So there,” Lightning admits, letting herself smile a little into Doc’s mouth before she kisses her, deep and sweet and anchoring. Everything about her is so _steady, _so sure. It makes her feel like she can tell the truth, for once, like even the ugly embarrassing parts about her are worth licking up and bedazzling. 

“Hm. Instead, you fought me every second, took _none_ of my advice, and did the worst goddamned road-paving job I've ever seen _just_ to spite me. You were terrible. A fucking _brat. _Made me want you ten times more,” Doc teases, smirking as her hands squeezing Lightning’s hips, holding her down. “You gonna listen to me now, kid? You gonna be a good girl from now on?” 

Lightning grins, heart lifting so high she’s worried it’s gonna break free from her chest, spiral around this hotel room like a shot bird, getting blood and feathers all over everything. But she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care. For once she doesn’t feel like she’s lying in filth looking up at the starts, but like she’s somewhere high up and dusted in moonlight, watching her old self shrink smaller and smaller like a car speeding into the distance. “Most of the time,” she says, batting her lashes. 

“Works for me,” Doc says on the front end of a kiss. 


End file.
